


no use crying over spilled milkshakes

by emavee



Series: Whumptober 2020 [20]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Dick Grayson, Mugging, i didnt proofread this whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27128954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emavee/pseuds/emavee
Summary: Damian hates galas, and Dick loves milkshakes. The night was not supposed to end with a mugging gone wrong and Damian's stupid, idiot brother bleeding out on the ground.Whumptober Day 20: field medicinePrequel to Day 10 (don't you cry)
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Series: Whumptober 2020 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948276
Comments: 8
Kudos: 164





	no use crying over spilled milkshakes

**Author's Note:**

> prequel to [don't you cry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26925853)

The worst thing about Gotham has got to be these ridiculous parties, and that’s saying something, because Gotham has a lot of shit to offer. Everyone here acts like total fools, including Father. It’s almost insulting to witness.

Damian grips the apple juice that Cain got for him tightly in one hand, resisting the strong urge to hurl it in the face of the woman in front of him. She’s leaning over awkwardly in front of Damian, stooping down to speak with him and providing a front-row view of the bubblegum-pink lipstick smudged on her teeth. He could possibly ignore the slight if she were to speak to him like a person rather than coo as if he were some sort of infant. Damian grits his teeth against the insult of it all, hoping that he is successfully managing the horribly fake smile Grayson taught him for such scenarios. 

It’s highly likely that his false smile looks more like bared teeth, however, because a moment later Grayson slides up beside him, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

The woman straightens immediately, ignoring Damian to fawn over Grayson instead. “Richard!” she squeals. “Oh it’s so good to see you! I was just introducing myself to your positively  _ adorable _ little brother here!”

Grayson laughs and Damian scowls into his apple juice, then squawking indignantly when Grayson reaches over to ruffle his hair. “He is a cutie. You’ll have to excuse us, Ms. Callahan, Bruce asked me to fetch Dami for him.”

The woman waves him off. “Of course, of course! It was lovely to meet you, Dami, and good to see you too, Richard!”

Grayson pulls him away by the shoulder before he can snap at her for referring to him as  _ Dami. _

Damian huffs as they walk. “What does Father need? Is there an emergency?”

Grayson laughs. “No, sorry kiddo. No emergency. And B doesn’t actually need anything. I just thought you looked like you could use a break.”

“Oh.” He’s a bit disappointed that they won’t be suiting up as Robin and Nightwing any time soon, but he is grateful to get away from that woman and her too-strong perfume. She looked only moments away from doing something as humiliating as pinching his cheeks. 

“Hey,” Grayson says, checking his watch, “we’ve only got like an hour or so left. What do you say we get out of here a little early? There’s a new ice cream place a few blocks down that I’ve been dying to try.”

Damian’s nose wrinkles. “Grayson, there is a whole table full of desserts right over there.”

“Well, yeah, but I thought you’d want to get out of here. You know, before you start getting… stabby.”

“I have never stabbed anyone at any of these events,” Damian snaps. “Do not be ludicrous, Grayson.” He’s wanted to stab some people quite often—then maybe they would learn the concept of personal space—but he’s never acted on those urges. He is better than that.

“I didn’t mean…” Grayson sighs. “Look, do you want to get out of here or not?”

Damian hesitates for just a moment. Father always stressed how important these events were, but they had already made it through the speeches and donations. Now it was just the babbling with rich idiots portion of the evening. 

“Father will not mind?” he asks.

Grayson grins down at him. “Not at all. Already got the a-okay from him and everything.”

Damian nods. “Alright then. I suppose I would not mind leaving here a bit early then.”

“Great!” Grayson wraps an arm loosely around his shoulders. “I’m thinking milkshakes. What do you say, little D?”

Damian does not particularly care, so long as he gets to leave before Ms. Callahan gets a face full of apple juice.

* * *

Grayson forces him to get a milkshake. Damian chooses strawberry, and then makes it dairy free because he’s been reading up on the dairy industry and he has to say he’s not the biggest fan. Grayson gets chocolate, ordering them both to-go, and then they step out into the cool evening air. 

It’s a bit weird walking around outside and sipping frozen desserts from styrofoam cups while still wearing their suits. At least being out of the party means that when Grayson messes up his hair for  _ the third time _ it is not as embarrassing as it could be. It’s still highly undignified, and undid all of Damian’s hard work from earlier, but at least it somewhat matches the rest of the general atmosphere. 

Grayson chats endlessly, asking Damian question after question about every little pointless thing in their lives. He asks about school and Damian’s friends and his upcoming violin recital, and Damian finds himself answering freely, falling with ease into conversational step beside his older brother. It doesn’t feel at all patronizing. Grayson always seems genuinely interested in Damian’s life outside of costume, which used to be confusing but now is normal and even enjoyable. 

One moment he’s in the middle of regaling Grayson with tales of his latest theatre class exploits and the next two men dressed in all black and balaclavas step out in front of them, a gun pointed straight at Damian’s chest. Perhaps they should have known better than to take alleyway shortcuts home.

“Give us your wallets,” the guy with the gun practically shouts, and Damian resists the urge to roll his eyes. Really? This is meant to intimidate them?

The mugger's hand is shaking, and Damian can see all the telltale signs of nervous fear in both him and his buddies. Damian sneers.  _ Amateurs.  _

“Alright, alright,” Grayson says, voice steady and placating. He digs his wallet out of his pocket and tosses it to the other mugger.

“You too!” The mugger jerks the gun in Damian’s direction.

Grayson frowns. “He’s eleven. He doesn’t have a wallet.”

“I know a couple of rich boys when I see one,” the mugger snaps. “Empty your pockets. I know you have more than this.” He waves Grayson’s wallet around. 

“I’m a social worker, dude,” Grayson says, even as he starts turning out his pockets. “I don’t really have anything else.”

“You want me to shoot the kid? Give us everything you’ve got!”

“Okay!” Grayson tugs off his watch, passing it over to the muggers. “That’s all I have, though, I swear.”

The hand holding the gun is shaking so violently that Damian can see it from here. He’s pretty sure this must be these guys’ first mugging job, because they seem lost as to what to do now.

“You’re turn, kid. Turn out your pockets.”

Damian glares. “Like he said, I do not have anything.” This isn’t quite true, but he is not going to give anything of his to these pathetic lowlifes. 

“Now!”

“Hey!” Grayson shouts, sounding angry. “You heard him. He’s just a kid. He doesn’t have anything—”

Suddenly Grayson is shoving Damian violently to the side before a loud  _ crack _ splits the air. He lands hard on his knees, ankle twisting and milkshake having gone flying.

Damian has no idea if he screams or not, the sound of the gunshot still echoing in his ears. The muggers flee, but Damian barely even takes notice, too busy scrambling to reach where Grayson is now lying prone on the dirty alleyway ground.

“Grayson!” He collapses to his knees, relief flooding him when he sees Grayson blinking slowly up at him. He’s still alive, still awake and breathing, even if the front of his white dress shirt is already soaked-through and stained red. 

Grayson gasps, blood already painting his lips. His eyes are unfocused and slightly glazed, and keep crossing and uncrossing as he tries to focus on Damian’s face above him.

“Don’t speak, you idiot,” Damian commands when he sees Grayson open his mouth to try and do just that. He silently prays that Grayson cannot hear the shake in his voice, or else he might try to do something stupid right now like try and reassure  _ Damian _ when he is the one bleeding out. Grayson is just ridiculous and sappy like that.

He fumbles through the pockets of Grayson’s jacket until he finds his cell phone, quickly unlocking it and dialing 911 before slamming the speakerphone button and dropping the cell phone onto the ground. Quickly, he shrugs his suit jacket off, using his now-free hands to press the jacket against the wound in Grayson’s chest.

_ “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” _

“My—my brother was shot,” Damian answers, batting Grayson’s hands out of the way as he presses down harder and gritting his teeth to try and block out the choked whimpering noises coming from his older brother. “Left side of his chest. I’m—I’m putting pressure on the wound now.”

_ “What’s your location?” _

“The alley between Sullivan and Holt. Please… please hurry.”

There is a cold feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, terror leeching up into his chest. Grayson’s breathing has turned to pained gasps and pants, and nothing Damian says seems to be able to calm him down. It is… frightening to see Grayson in the manner. It leaves Damian feeling shaken in a way he’s never felt before.

Something hot and wet slips down Damian’s cheek, catching him off guard. Grayson must notice it too because all of a sudden he’s looking up at Damian with that stupid, goofy, reassuring smile on his face. It looks horrifying with all the blood on his mouth and chin, and only makes the tears fall faster. 

“Stop smiling at me, you idiot,” he sobs. “I am not the one who is hurt.”

Grayson’s hand reaches up and brushes his cheek and despite everything, Damian grabs hold of it, holding on for dear life while his other hand continues to press down on Grayson’s chest. It is not effective in stopping the bleeding, and it smears tacky blood against his cheek, but Damian can’t bring himself to let go. He clutches at Grayson’s hand desperately, hating himself for being so selfish, for needing Grayson to comfort him, when Grayson is the one who is dying.

“You cannot die, Grayson,” he whispers, shaking against Grayson’s palm. Grayson tries to swipe away his tears, but his movements are clumsy and disjointed. It terrifies Damian to his core. “Please. You cannot leave me.”

He cannot lose Grayson, not again. The thought is unfathomable, too horrible. Grayson means everything to him. Damian would not be this version of himself without Grayson as his mentor, brother, something even more. Damian does not quite understand the complicated feelings he has involving his father and oldest brother or how to define his relationship with either of them, but he does know that he cannot bear to lose Grayson. Another sob tears its way out of his throat.

He feels Grayson’s hand go limp in his grasp, but he doesn’t let go. The incoming sirens are growing nearer. Soon the paramedics will be here, and Damian will have to let go of his hand, and they’ll take Grayson away from him, possibly for the last time. 

There’s the sound of feet against the pavement, and then a rush of people around him, gently pushing Damian back and taking over for him. Damian whines, fighting back. Grayson is  _ his _ brother, and it is Damian’s duty to look after and protect his family. More than anything, he is overwhelmed by the need to stay at Grayson’s side, but they won’t let him. They get in contact with Father, tell Damian that he’s on his way to collect him, and that he can meet them at the hospital. Damian would much rather ride in the ambulance with Grayson, but he doesn’t want to be in the way. He can’t be the reason that the paramedics fail to save Grayson, not when it is his own fault that they were out in the first place, when it’s his fault that Grayson got shot.

“You are not allowed to die, Grayson,” he commands one last time, watching as they load his brother into the back of the ambulance. “You are not allowed to leave me.”

He lets him go, desperately hoping that the next time he sees Grayson, everything will be okay again.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a little burnt out... may need to take a break from whumptober. my goal is still to fill all the prompts they just might not all happen in october...


End file.
